the dogs don’t know it’s a film

when at the touch of a limb as
proximal heat trains the tidal
light on the inner arm right by
the elbow then is my lip bitten
still at the rim of the morning
vacantly falling away these
things in the hotel room levitate
they quiver as prep for the re-hang
your hair spins / you spin / crash

a new pastime sweeps the land:
etching names on door glass of
great thieves and racing drivers
out of time or constellations up
till when the children start
to riot and their gauche slogans
go viral oh christmas of sirens
go postal whatever that means go
sashay toward the klieg light honey

from streetlamp to veering street
lamp clang to tap at the gauss
meter; in an old fashioned hat
you’re a milky blue colour from
fright. Surely there should be
dancing in the streets if a great
clown shows an old VHS tape
with about 20 minutes of hot
I guess you’d call it uh action

it looks like she’s headed for
that mausoleum, to create her
own tiny underwater world.
It looks like all the water of the
world is carbonated or her
words escape the museum
half casino half aquarium / why
are there always fountains
in the foyer of the dream house?

at risk at flash stop look say
reel back slant and limelit
bristle with demotic hexes go
quickly forward to the lip of
smiling yes all that retro stuff
how did you get your uh name
press the lens out and listen
up for the click it will go dark
no wait I mean light no dark

this opalescent trailer roof’s our
proxy sky and only clock, so
do we say it’s cocktail hour?
cocaine floral and nacreous?
do not come knocking when,
rammed to the dagger’s hilt
in the white scabbard of my dread
intention, all’s a-hover oh do not
come knocking at the jump

cut blurred and where it seems
to leak out the NW quadrant
of my face tears heat the eye
over easy just to think of heaven
a head shot a warm front rose
as if I kissed you on the shoulder
would you come or listen to me as I
play the fucking lute and purse my
ridiculous lips to whisper the weather

I’d say rain or at the least provoking
mist later soapflake snow as we’ll be
huddled by the generator wondering
each alone if I kissed you on the off
chance in the riot’s light so broken up
on location say it is it’s rain it turns
to steam as it hits the light’s heat
goes slamming out to black and makes
the dogs go crazy and me go crazy

run fast in the streets young film star
particularly Lisle St lined with grey
emergency vehicles as the hotel
ashtray hits the mirror the fishtank
splits the carpet’s red with flashing
isobars and so the dogs do muscle
up their fisted skulls to swivel, gawp
and see the vastly torpid retching of
the starry sky they don’t know it’s a film

About alanhay68

None of your business
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